


Isn't It A Little Early For This?

by holbytlanna



Series: Advent Calendar 2020 [5]
Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Bless Jack Dalton, Christmas Advent Calendar 2020, Explosions, Fireworks, Gen, Giving Mac shit, Hurt Mac, Hurt/Comfort, Let Jack Dalton Say Fuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-18 00:09:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28608831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holbytlanna/pseuds/holbytlanna
Summary: Fireworks | Explosions | Working with Pyrotechnics gone wrongMac tries to make fireworks. Which goes just as well as you might expect :/
Relationships: Jack Dalton & Angus MacGyver (MacGyver TV 2016)
Series: Advent Calendar 2020 [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2042773
Comments: 15
Kudos: 35





	Isn't It A Little Early For This?

**Author's Note:**

> I am aware of the fact that it is 2021, and that I am far behind on the Christmas Advent thingy, but I kinda want to finish it anyway? So here you go :)

_ You’d think that, given my line of work, I wouldn’t like explosions all that much. I mean, I disarmed bombs for years in what you might call a high-stress environment. And it seems like I’m always getting myself into situations where an explosion is imminent. But explosions, and the chemical reactions that cause them, have always fascinated me. Some of those reactions save lives every day, like airbags, or the combustion in your car’s engine. And some are just plain cool. Popcorn is a small-scale explosion. And fireworks, using different elements to create different colours, have always been a fascination of mine. _

“Still don’t see why you’re makin’ fireworks there, bud. You are aware that we live in one of the driest, most wildfire-prone states in the whole country?”

Mac huffed his hair out of his eyes, not even looking at Jack as he kept working. “Yeah, Jack, I know. Which is why I’m working on this. Beyond initial ignition, there’s very little in the way of sparks. It’s just flashes of coloured light, really”

Jack, leaning against the doorframe, was well away from the driveway where Mac was hunched over his chemicals and explosive doohickeys. “Alright, that’s super cool. Or it would be. If it were July. When regular people set off fireworks. In case you hadn’t noticed, it’s December!”

Mac stood up, trigger switch in hand. “I know what month it is. How could I forget? You got me that Die Hard calendar last year, it’s hard to forget what month it is when every time I look at the calendar I see Hans Gruber falling from Nakatomi Plaza.” His device was ready to test, he hoped. It really could change the amount of accidental fires set off by fireworks. If it worked.

As Jack continued to give Mac grief about the time of year being totally wrong for fireworks, Mac stepped back to test his creation. 

He was expecting a small shower of silver sparks, and a few red pops. Nothing happened. He frowned, and pushed the igniter on the trigger switch again. Still nothing.

“Now, I’m no expert,” Jack drawled, “but ain’t that supposed to be doin’ something?”

“Yeah…” Mac trailed off distractedly as he walked cautiously over to his failed firework display.  _ What did I do wrong? _ The chemicals were all right, and measured out perfectly. He had triple-checked the wiring, what was the problem—

Mac’s eyes went wide as his contraption let out a wisp of smoke and the smells of sulfur and strontium. He didn’t have time to move, to do anything more than yell “Jack! It’s—” before a small explosion rocked the driveway.

—————

Jack could only look on in horror as Mac moved to stand up and yell before his homemade bomb sent him flying. Not very far, just into the closed garage door, but Mac’s head made impact with the wood with a horrible  _ thunk _ , and he crumpled to the ground. 

The nasty-smelling smoke hadn’t yet cleared before Jack bolted the few feet separating him and his motionless friend. “Mac, hey, talk to me. Are you alright?”

As Jack carefully turned Mac onto his back, he could see that Mac was clearly not alright. There was a sizable goose-egg forming just below his hairline, and a small cut oozing blood slowly. Mac’s face was slack and pale, mouth open slightly as if still surprised by the delayed explosion. He didn’t react to Jack turning him, or to his words.

His pulse was strong, he was breathing fine, there was no reason he shouldn’t be waking up, at least, not that Jack could see. But as Jack patted Mac’s cheeks and shook him by the shoulder and called his name, Mac remained resolutely unconscious. So without wasting another moment, Jack shucked Mac out of his blue-checked flannel to press it to the still-bleeding cut on his head, leaving Mac in just a plain white t-shirt.

Jack picked Mac up, too worried to even grouse about his back or his grey hairs or being too old for this, and stuffed him in the passenger seat of the GTO. Buckling him was an ordeal, given that Mac’s entire body was deadweight and wanted to flop over onto Jack, but he managed it. Jack got behind the wheel, and gently lowered Mac down so his head was resting on Jack’s thigh, allowing Jack to keep the shirt pressed to the wound, and to tab Mac’s pulse whenever he needed the reassurance of its steady beat on the way to the hospital.

“You can’t even hear me right now because you’re stubborn and won’t wake up,” Jack muttered, blasting through a stop sign, “but for the record, that was a terrible idea. And if you bleed on my seats, I’m gonna be pissed, man.”

Mac had scored himself a severe concussion and needed a few stitches. Jack stayed by his side for all of it, even though the kid didn’t wake up for a second. The doctors said there was no reason Mac couldn’t wake up, he just hadn’t yet. 

“Stubborn. Like I said. Punk kid, you’re scaring the hell out of me. Wake up so I can yell at you good and proper.” Jack was sitting in an uncomfortable chair (maybe he should have taken Mac to Phoenix med, they at least knew to keep a decent chair by Mac’s bedside for Jack), just watching and waiting.

“Properly. And I’d rather you didn’t yell at me.”

The small voice startled a particularly violent exclamation out of Jack, which caused the now-conscious Mac to wince from the sheer volume.

“Mac! You’re awake!”

“Yeah,” Mac grimaced, “but I’m starting to regret it. You’re really loud, you know that?”

“Nah, I’m not loud, you’re just concussed. And you know why that is, Oh Smart One?” Jack’s voice was taking on the ‘Lecture An Irresponsible Child’ tone that it always did right before he would launch into a haranguing that Mac really didn’t want to be awake for, but knew was inevitable.

“How are you the smartest guy in the whole world, and so fucking dumb, Mac? You blew your own dumb ass up making experimental fireworks in your driveway!!” If Jack was breaking out curses and insults this early into the lecture, Mac must have had him scared pretty badly. “Why in the world did you go back to an explosion that didn’t happen? Ain’t there somethin’ in your fancy EOD training that says “don’t walk toward an explosion”? Huh? You scared me half to death, kid! I couldn’t get you to wake up.”

Mac at least had the decency to look contrite. “I’m sorry, Jack, it was stupid for me to try and go back to a triggered device. Did I damage anything?”

Jack huffed a laugh, because sure, Mac was sorry, but he would never worry about his own welfare over that of anyone or anything else. “Nah, there’s just a scorch-mark on your driveway. And your thick skull may have dented your garage door. But I wasn’t really looking to catalogue any damage other than your own noggin, kiddo. You bonked yourself good.”

“Well,” Mac corrected instinctively. Mac wasn’t particularly a grammar nazi, but he did enjoy correcting Jack because it got a rise out of him.

“Shut up. If you’re feeling  _ well  _ enough to correct my damn grammar, maybe you could manage to get a hospital cafeteria sandwich down?”

Jack laughed as Mac went positively green at the very thought of eating anything, much less hospital cafeteria fare. “Didn’t think so, hoss. You’ve got a pretty legit concussion.”

“Coulda told you that,” Mac grumbled as he closed his eyes and tried to breathe around the wave of nausea. 

“Well I didn’t ask you, I asked the doc. Who says you need rest. You’re gonna go back to sleep, and when you wake up, I’m gonna take you home and you’re gonna sleep some more. Capisce?”

Mac sighed, not looking forward to the next week or so. Jack was going to mother-hen like crazy, and so was Bozer. But Jack was right, the best thing Mac could do just then to help his concussion heal was to sleep. And he  _ was  _ kinda sleepy...

As he drifted off, Jack threaded his fingers through Mac’s hair, careful to avoid the bandage and stitches. “G’night, you pyromaniac.”


End file.
